


Lone Tree

by vinniebatman



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 18:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17944610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinniebatman/pseuds/vinniebatman
Summary: People will go to the tree and return, telling of peaceful, shaded afternoons. Couples will covet this spot.But every so often, when the park is quiet, someone goes and lays under the tree. They are never seen again. It happens so rarely that people forget and return to the tree. Yet when the wind is right, another person will disappear. And the tree remains, silent and peaceful. Growing.Based on a photo prompt





	Lone Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girl_with_the_tarot_tattoos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girl_with_the_tarot_tattoos/gifts).



> After linking me to this really cool photo, I came up with the summary blurb for girl_with_the_tarot_tattoos. 
> 
> This idea has been on my mind, and I always wanted to do a bit more with it. So here it is, my slightly southern gothic expansion.

 

Sara rode her bike down the street, skin warmed by the spring sun.  Barrett was a small town, kind of boring but it was okay. It was the kind of place where people lived out their lives in the shade of the palm trees, where everyone knew everyone.  Three houses down from her house, she passed by Mrs. Brian’s rickety old house. Sara waved at the old woman on the porch. Mrs. Brian looked at her with blank eyes, then nodded once before her gaze grew empty as she stared out at the street.  She’d always been a nice lady, the neighborhood’s default grandma with an endless supply of cookies. But three years ago, Mr. Brian had gone for a walk in the park and never returned. Mrs. Brian was never right after that, spending her days on the porch instead of inside.

As Sara crossed past main street, she passed by the school.  Outside the school, vacant for the weekend, Kristy’s tree was still growing.  The town had planted it there to remember Kristy Green. Kristy had disappeared six year ago while the family was at the playground.  Sara didn’t really remember her face, just a vague impression of dark braids that matched the black and white photo still on the grocery store’s bulletin board.   

In front of the grocery store, Sara zipped past Mr. Meir, who was sweeping the sidewalk. 

“Hi, Mr. Meir!” she yelled.

Mr. Meir yelled something back, but was his words were lost in air that rushed by her ears.  On her way back home, Sara decided, she’d stop by the soda machine and get a drink. 

Just two blocks away from the store, at the southern edge of town, the buildings finally gave way to the park.  Centered around a small lake, the park wasn’t huge, though it was well maintained. There was a playground near the street, but Sara wasn’t a kid anymore.  She was 12, and all she wanted some peace and quiet. She rode along the footpath that wound around the lake, ignoring the signs warning about alligators. At the far end of the park, on the other side of the lake, was a small small pagoda, built by the first Mr. Barrett 150 years ago.  It was a nice little building; families used it for parties and picnics, even the occasional wedding. But next to that was the real prize.

Everyone in town knew the tree.  Huge, with branches that stretched out wide and vines that dangled down, it was it’s own little world.  Everyone knew the tree by sight, a local landmark present long before the first Mr. Barrett built the town.  The tree was the best place in the park, the vines a thin curtain to hide you from the world. Everytime Sara’s family had a picnic, she had to share the tree with her stupid brothers, who wouldn’t stop talking long enough for her to read.  But today, it was just her. 

Parking her bike, she closely eyed they lake.  The lake was surrounded by a sturdy fence, meant to keep the gators out. Everyone said it was the gators that made people disappear.  So far, Sara hadn’t ever seen a gator, but she always looked. As much as it would scare her to see gator, she still wanted to see one

Sara sat down beneath the tree, smiling as she pulled her book from her backpack.  Morning was the best time of day to sit under the tree. In the afternoons, there was usually someone sitting there, maybe reading or on a picnic.  It was all hers in that moment, her own little world. The vines drifted on the breeze, reaching out to touch her. Under the tree, it was hard to hear the kids yelling on the playground.  She looked at the trunk, but didn’t see any new initials carved into it. The older kids all snuck down here to make out and carve their initials into the tree. Her brother said that if you carved your initials into it and the bark covered the letters, it was a bad omen.  Sara settled against the trunk and started reading. 

When she was 50 pages into the book, the vines brushed her shoulders.  Sara looked up; it was quiet, the playground empty and the park still. There was no breeze, but the vines continued to slide over her skin as she stood up to look around.  She glanced at her watch; it was a little after noon; she needed to get home. She brushed off her pants as she reached for her bike, a vine curling around her arm.

 

 

That night, Sara’s parents would find her book, backpack, and bike by the tree.

Everyone would say it was gators.

 


End file.
